


devil's got your tongue

by disgracedwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season 11, before the finale, hurt/comfortish, kinda alternate ending?, now that it's been two years and we know what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 20:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgracedwings/pseuds/disgracedwings
Summary: lucifer is in his head, again. but unlike those years ago, castiel is relatively safe with friends by his side, if only talking about it didn't make him feel like such a coward.





	devil's got your tongue

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this sitting in my drafts for two years now maybe, 80% finished, so i've finally decided to just abridge and post it. i don't really remember after what episode i started writing it, but i know i was looking into the future so it mostly works off the assumption that cas had gotten rid of lucifer and was dealing with the effects.

The water burns past comfortable as it runs over his hands, but Castiel doesn't lower the heat, focusing instead on scrubbing the dirty pan in the sink. It's methodical and since moving into the bunker he's found himself frequently volunteering to do clean up.

Today Dean made pasta, and Cas can smell the lingering scent of garlic now mixed with the overly-perfumey lavender dish soap. Castiel usually likes the smell, he'd picked it out himself, but right now the cloyingly-fake scent is making him sick. Breathing through his mouth he frowns, frustrated with himself, but continues washing the pan focusing on the steam billowing past his face, on his hands moving over the pan in a circular motion. He focuses on the distractions. He needs it.

Castiel had seen him again.

Earlier in the afternoon, when all three of them had been in the library, he'd thought he was right behind him. He'd felt a chill down his spine and Cas had spun around so fast he'd knocked over a stack of books near him. Dean and Sam had looked at him weird and Sam had asked if he was okay, and feeling irrationally angry Castiel had snapped at them, hurrying out of the room. Shame washed over him soon after that and he's kept to himself the rest of the day.

It's pathetic, he knows, to be so affected by nothing, nothing but his mind playing tricks on him, but since he expelled the archangel he hasn't been able to help it. What would Sam or Dean think, to know that someone they need on the front line is hearing the devil's voice in his head? Castiel’s stomach twists and he grips the sponge in his hand harder frowning at the soapy pan, realistically past clean at this point, but Cas just can’t stop scrubbing. They aren’t going away, the thoughts of Lucifer. Castiel had hoped, in the beginning, that maybe seeing his brother wouldn’t last forever, that it’d be like the last time when he’d taken Sam’s illness on for himself eventually morphing into something more manageable. Just as embarrassing, but bearable.

Sighing Castiel finally rinses the pan off, setting it into the dish rack and picking up a glass to start washing. 

He’s almost done with the dishes, onto the the last bowl when he hears a chuckle behind him and freezes, terror coursing through his body.

“Hello, Castiel.”

Cas closes his eyes barely registering a crashing noise near him, balling his hands up so tight he thinks he feels blood. “No.” It comes out weaker than he intended, shaky and with no real conviction.

“No? Come on, Cas, don’t be like that, I just want to talk. Turn around and face me like a man.”

Castiel would if he could but he’s too afraid to move, too afraid to take his chances and he knows, he knows he’s had too many of them already and he’s not a fool to think he deserves anymore.

Lucifer laughs again and Castiel’s neck prickles, the taunting sound biting sharply into his skin. “Cas,” a pause, “Cas? CAS?”

A hand grips Castiel’s shoulder followed by his whole body being roughly shaken; Castiel closes his eyes tightly and wills it all away, but just as quickly the shaking stops and someone grabs his hand, leads him away from it all and sits him down. “Cas, come on buddy, you’re okay,” says a warm voice and Castiel sways towards it, seeking comfort.

He opens his eyes again slowly and looks up relief numbing his body when he sees Dean staring at him eyebrows pinched in worry, one hand resting on his shoulder anchoring him to reality. “Dean?”

“Hey, what happened there? Did you, did you see—?” Dean closes his mouth, cutting himself off, but he grips Cas’ shoulder tighter, and Castiel knows what he had wanted to say. 

So Dean’s been watching him, Dean knows there’s something wrong with him and that makes Castiel want to curl up in humiliation. 

Castiel doesn’t reply and Dean sighs, taking that for the answer it was. He moves his hand off Castiel’s shoulder and Cas tries not to mourn the loss of contact as Dean walks away picking up a broom from the corner of the kitchen. Castiel watches him silently sweep up a broken bowl and belatedly realizes that must of been the loud noise he had heard. Curious, he looks down at his hands to check for where the dropped bowl’s shards must have been digging into his skin.

“Oh.”

“What?” Dean sets the broom against the counter and walks over towards Cas.

Holding out his right hand Castiel says, “I’m bleeding.”

“Shit, okay yeah you are, here just let me…” Dean walks off out of the kitchen still mumbling to himself and Castiel regrets saying anything because the moment Dean leaves he feels himself start to panic, the prospect of being alone again so soon too much to handle. His hands start to shake of their own volition and he watches them tremble for an unknown amount of time before he sees worn hands cover his and hears Dean’s voice in place of silence.

“Alright you’re gonna be good, I’m just gonna wrap it for you, ‘kay?” Dean is crouched by Castiel’s chair and he dabs at Cas’ hand with a tissue, working the gauze in his hands with the skill of a man who’s done this one hundred times before, one hundred times more than he should have had to. His face is determined, and as Cas watches Dean’s eyelashes flutter his stomach twists with the gentleness of Dean’s actions. His movements, though deft, are surprisingly delicate and Castiel feels lost by how much he craves this tenderness that is so innate to Dean.

In an effort to distract himself Castiel turns to where the bowl was just lying in pieces and says, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean eyes him confused, “For what?” His head turns, following Cas’ gaze, “The dish?” Castiel knows he’s apologizing for more than that but he just nods solemnly eyeing the newly-cleaned spot because it’s so much easier. “No— Hey, it’s fine,” Dean assures him, “we can live without a dish.”

“That’s the third one I’ve broken.”

Dean huffs out a breath, “I know.”

Dean finishes with Castiel’s bandage and stands to full height with a grunt; Cas pretends not to notice Dean’s firm hand still gripping his. “Come on, get up, we’re gonna take a break from this,” Dean decides. 

Castiel lets himself be pulled up to Dean’s eye level and he tries to gauge Dean’s emotions. His eyes flit over Dean’s face, searching, but Dean just turns around and leads them away from the table. With no choice but to follow Castiel trails behind him with a lump in his throat, staring at where their hands are still connected.

Dean eventually lets go once they are out of the kitchen and Cas feels his hand drop slowly to his side. It’s still hard to swallow.

Dean keeps leading them through the bunker without really acknowledging him except to turn back to look at Cas every now and then. Castiel suspects it’s to make sure he’s still here, with him. He’s been wondering the same thing about himself.

They end up stopping in front of Cas’ room where Dean turns around to face him, arms crossed, leaning against the closed door. He looks Cas over, studying him and Castiel feels him shrinking into himself too exhausted for the talk that’s bound to come next. Dean’s face softens, though, and opening the bedroom door he mumbles, “Come on,” walking into Cas’ room, stopping himself a couple of feet from the bed. Castiel follows slowly after him, watching Dean watching him. Castiel circles around him keeping a distance and sits on the bed looking everywhere but at Dean. Dean rolls his eyes and goes to close the door, speaking as soon as it clicks shut. “So what’s up man?”

Castiel opens and closes his mouth a few times before deciding on a simple, “Nothing, Dean.”

“Nothing?” Dean says skeptically. “Cas, don’t—”

“Dean, I’m okay.” Castiel forces out, cutting Dean off. He finally looks Dean in the eye daring him to say otherwise. Another silence stretches between them neither willing to concede until Dean rubs a hand over his face wearily.

“Cas you’re not okay.” And Dean’s right, of course Dean’s right, but if he’s not okay then what? What can be done for him, what can be done with him? “Hey,” Dean pulls Cas’ attention back to him concern etched into the lines of his face, still beautiful, always beautiful, but just tired and Castiel feels awful, Dean shouldn’t have to be worried about him. “Talk to me.”

Cas just stares at him steeling himself to lie again, if he lies enough maybe it’ll become true, “Dean—”

“No, don’t fucking…” Dean starts harshly shaking his head and he looks so worried Castiel doesn’t even flinch. “Fuck you. I remember… I remember what Sam was like, after, after Lucifer—Jesus—” Dean racks a shaky hand through his hair and continues, “I remember you after taking all that fucked up for yourself. Don’t… Cas, don’t look me in the eye and tell me you’re okay.” 

Castiel looks down at his bandaged hand at a loss for words, and isn’t that ironic? Having a vast knowledge of every language yet still struggling to come up with one, one word to describe how he’s feeling, to let Dean know that no he’s not okay. He feels something bubbling up in his throat and maybe that’s nausea or maybe it’s the words threatening to spill out, but he swallows it all down, staying silent.

Dean heaves a sigh and Castiel feels the bed slump next to him. Dean’s warm body settles beside him, and Dean’s magnetic, always has been but Cas’ whole body feels tense, so he resists from leaning in. Dean takes another deep breath and Castiel finds himself wishing they weren’t both so stubborn, but that’s not fair because Dean—he’s trying—Dean’s trying. And as if to prove it, miraculously, Dean tries again.

“Look, I know I’m doing this all wrong, but I just… ” and then Dean grabs his hand, cautious of his bandage and it’s suddenly easier to look at Dean because Castiel knows he’s being genuine, that Dean isn’t here to judge him. “Cas I’m worried about you. Please just talk to me.”

A hand immediately closes over Castiel’s throat threatening him to stay quiet and Castiel would think it was Lucifer, his way of convincing him there’s weakness in seeking help, but Castiel sees no panic in Dean’s eyes, just refuge and he knows it’s not real. But Dean is and he’s asking him to talk and deep down he knows Lucifer would have been wrong anyways. 

Castiel confesses, “I’ve been seeing him… Lucifer,” Dean’s eyes harden and he squeezes Cas’ fingers urging him on. “Hearing him, it’s… you’re right, it’s similar to last time so I should’ve been able to handle it”—another squeeze—”but I-I’m weaker than I thought, Dean. I don’t trust myself. I don’t know how to trust what’s real.” Castiel drops his gaze from Dean’s looking down at their hands; Dean’s hand is warm in his and grounds him to reality giving him strength.

“Cas…” Dean licks his lips and tries again, his voice urgent. “Cas, you know this is real, though? Right now,” he gestures to himself with his empty hand, “I’m real.”

Cas gives Dean a sad smile, “Logically I know that, yes, but when it catches me by surprise it’s not as easy to remember.”

“Like in the library today?”

Nodding Cas says, “I thought I heard him, I could _feel_ him standing right behind me, and in the kitchen, too.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrow, troubled, “Why didn’t you tell me, man?”

Castiel smiles again but it’s bitter and when he speaks he wonders if Dean can hear the self-loathing lacing every word. “I was worried you and Sam would think less of me. I thought less of myself for it, so why wouldn’t you?”

Dean pulls his hand away roughly, and Cas knows it was the wrong thing to say. “Why wouldn’t I?” Dean’s voice shakes and Castiel can’t tell if he’s angry or hurt.

“Dean, you yourself mentioned last time…” Castiel doesn’t continue, memories of white hospital clothes making him sick and then Dean stands up and he’s leaving again and Castiel wants to grab his hand and beg him to stay, but he can’t seem to move—

“You’re right.” Dean turns to face him his shoulders hardened, a sign that he’s guarding himself, and Castiel knows that was hurt in his voice before. “Not about me thinking less of you, but about last time. You’re right, Cas, and I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry for that, but I promise this time’ll be different.” Dean’s shoulders drop, but his face is determined; Castiel loves him. “This time you’re not gonna be alone.”

“Dean.”

“Hey, I mean it, I’ll be here to—to take care of you. To help you figure out what’s real.” Dean drops himself on the bed again and he gives Cas a careful look, waiting to see if his words are accepted, if he’s accepted. And this time it’s Castiel who grabs Dean’s hand both in silent confirmation and because Castiel can’t help himself. It’s what they needed. Both smiling at the other, tentative. And this is good, Cas thinks, but feeling like a burden is hard to shake and Dean has so much going on already.

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Dean.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise, “Yeah okay, stop breaking our dishes then.”

Castiel glares at Dean, but there’s no real heat, not with the ridiculous grin Dean’s now wearing, his tongue sticking out through his teeth and eyes crinkled at the corners. Without looking away from Dean’s mouth Castiel concedes, “How?”

Dean frowns, stuck. “Good question,” he lets out a puff of air, considering. Castiel tilts his head thoughtfully letting his gaze roam over Dean’s face. Furrowing his brow he watches Dean think, observing his look of concentration fondly: mouth parted open, pink lips wet from Dean running his tongue over them—a nervous tick, Cas thinks—eyes looking just past Castiel, and then Dean looks down to where their hands are connected his eyes brightening before Cas feels a hard squeeze. Dean looks up at him, accomplished, and says, “That, that was real.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, but looks at Dean confused and Dean huffs a breath at Cas’ expression. “Don’t look at me like that,” Dean explains, “Cas, I’m—um—holding your hand and that’s real.”

Castiel stares at Dean steadily before his lips part in understanding. “Oh.” Looking between Dean and their hands he goes quiet again, waiting.

“Uh…” Dean all but whispers considering his next move. Castiel tracks Dean’s other hand as it moves up and Cas shivers when Dean pushes his fingers through Cas’ hair settling his strong hand at the base of his neck. Dean swallows, “That was real.”

Castiel doesn’t breathe, afraid to move and ruin everything again, it seems to be the only thing he’s good at.

Dean moves his whole body forward this time, leaning towards Cas, his eyes searching for something—confirmation maybe—before he closes the distance brushing his lips against Cas’. It’s quick and Dean pulls back just enough to look Castiel in the eye whispering, “That was real.”

Nodding slowly Castiel murmurs, “Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, leaning back in again. Just as slow as before Castiel feels Dean’s breath hot against his lips and his body tenses in anticipation when Dean’s nose gently brushes his own before theirs mouths finally meet. Castiel lets out a choked sound at the welcome pressure of Dean’s soft lips as they begin to move against his own finding a rhythm. He feels the tension leave him, all thoughts of Lucifer and _broken_ gone as his focus is shifted to everything _Dean_. 

Castiel reaches out, fisting his hand in Dean’s soft flannel pulling him even closer, giving in to his need to touch, to convince himself that this is real. That Dean wants him as damaged as he is. Still clutching Dean’s shirt he pulls only inches away marveling at the man in front of him. Dean’s lips glisten and they pull back into a smile as Dean slides his hand from Cas’ hair to cup his cheek. Eying Cas’ lips Dean leans back in and kisses Cas once, twice softly, the wet sound combined with the soft pant of their breaths sending a delicious shiver down Castiel’s spine. 

“That feel good?”

Dean’s so close Castiel can feel the words leave Dean’s mouth and at first all he can do is nod before he finds his voice and says, “Yes.”

Brushing his nose against Cas’ he smiles and says shakily, “Good, I want— You deserve to feel good.”

Castiel smiles, pressing a kiss against the corner of Dean’s mouth. “You do too, Dean.”

Still cupping Cas’ cheek Dean pulls away enough to look Castiel in the eye, steadying him like always. He says firmly, “Well right now this is about you.”

About him. As uncomfortable as that statement makes Castiel it's something to consider. Not forever, of course. Lucifer is still out there and then there's Crowley to contend with, but here, now, in his room safe in the bunker with Dean by his side he decides to allow it. At least for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> so like i said before this was a part of a longer work i was writing. it was a little difficult finding a place in the middle of my writing to end it and then add a couple of lines to make it seem complete, but i hope i did alright. feel free to let me know any errors i've made especially when it comes to commas, i don't doubt there's too many. thank you so much for reading! ❤


End file.
